


A Cup Of Nerves

by CalamityK



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Confessions, Cute, First Dates, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Nervousness, hand holding, kind of, metaphorical mental Jenga, so much nervousness, these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityK/pseuds/CalamityK
Summary: “I’ve got a three-hour break,” Mickey says immediately, cutting off Emil’s ‘Good morning,’ and smiling the most uncharacteristic of smiles, “and from what I understand so do you.”“Oh?” Emil slow blinks, bringing the beaming Italian into better focus; testing to see if his eyes are playing tricks on him. “What does that mean?”“It means we can get out of here.” Mickey’s smile widens. “Like you always seem to want to do.”





	A Cup Of Nerves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OurMidnightMuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurMidnightMuse/gifts).



> Ourmidnightmuse won my "find my secret sideblog" contest and requested an Emil/Mickey confession ficlet as a prize.
> 
> That was like a month ago and here we are....hope you like it bae ♥

Emil has the conversation preemptively planned in his head.

He’ll ask Mickey something simple to get the communication started. Mickey will answer gruffly, like always, forcing Emil to smile and up his charms. They’ll exchange words and Mickey’s early-morning-grunts for approximately three minutes. Then Emil will slide in a non-sequitur to change direction, and when he’s got Mickey all nice and warmed up, he’ll casually ask if he wants to _maybe_ grab coffee, or tea, or a bite to eat, or a movie—anything that will get them out of the rink.

Mickey, of course, will say no, and Emil will have to revise his plan and try again a few days later. That’s the pattern they’ve fallen into.

So, it’s no small wonder that Emil is struck dumb when the pattern breaks, and Mickey is not only perfectly happy to see him this morning, but also _initiates_ the idea of going somewhere else.

“I’ve got a three-hour break,” Mickey says immediately, cutting off Emil’s ‘Good morning,’ and smiling the most uncharacteristic of smiles, “and from what I understand so do _you_.”

“Oh?” Emil slow blinks, bringing the beaming Italian into better focus; testing to see if his eyes are playing tricks on him. “What does that mean?”

“It means we can get out of here.” Mickey’s smile widens. “Like you always seem to want to do.”

Emil fights to keep his jaw from going slack as the entire structure of their interaction, that he’s built up in his brain like a Jenga henge, suddenly collapses. “S-sure.”

“Is that okay?” Mickey asks, one side of his smile wavering like he’s not as sure of himself as he seems. It makes Emil wonder if he’s not the only one who preemptively planned out this conversation.

“Yeah.” He answers as smoothly as possible, recollecting his mental Jenga blocks. “It’s perfectly okay.”

\------

They wind up heading to a coffee shop, Mickey claiming it’s the only place appropriate to go when it’s still this early and with them still being in their practice gear.

Mickey’s chestnut hair is ungelled, and the breeze keeps catching it as they walk. Emil can’t help but eye it. It’s a rare sight to see it falling down over Mickey’s forehead, almost reaching his violet eyes.

Emil is so distracted that it takes him a moment to register when Mickey has come to a stop.

“Ah,” Mickey says, pointing across the way, “I always forget which side of the street it’s on. We’ll have to cross.”

Emil tears his eyes away from Mickey’s hair long enough to follow him across the road to the café.

It’s a small shop, family-run by the looks of it, with big open-faced windows housing little displays of what appear to be pastries, and a propped-open front door with a wooden welcome sign hanging precariously from the knob. It seems quaint, warm almost, and nothing like the type of place Mickey would frequent.

“Do you come here often?” Emil asks lightly, trying to not sound too disbelieving.

Mickey nods. “Sara tends to drag me here on weekends. She likes their Pizzelle.”

The shop is quiet when they enter, only a few people seated at tables, and an older lady behind the counter. She smiles when she sees Mickey, and waves him over.

“Michele! It’s not usual to see you on a Wednesday!” She peers around him as she speaks, and sizes up Emil. “And this is not your sister!”

Mickey laughs, and it’s a bright sound.

 “I caught a rare break and thought I’d introduce my friend here to your pastries and dark blend cappuccinos.” He looks back over his shoulder like he just realized Emil has gone silent. “Does that sound fine to you? You can order whatever you want.”

“I’ll have whatever you recommend.” Emil confirms, tongue catching on the roof of his mouth. He feels so out of his element with this version of Mickey. It’s surreal. “I’m not familiar with most of it anyway.”

Emil decides to choose a corner table for them while Mickey orders, chatting a bit longer with the woman before joining him with their drinks and a small saucer of long desserts. They look wonderful, spotted with almonds and chocolate glaze, and Emil doesn’t hesitate to take one as Mickey slides the plate toward him.

“You have tomorrow off, right?” Mickey asks offhandedly, as he settles in.

“Hmm? M’not sure.” Emil hums around his mouthful of pastry, wishing he hadn’t taken quite so large a bite.

“Sara may have mentioned that your day off this week coincides with mine, and well, mine’s tomorrow.” Mickey’s looking studiously down at his drink as he speaks and Emil doesn’t miss the light blush that’s subtly blooming on Mickey’s cheekbones. “I thought maybe we could hang out again.”

_That…sounds a lot like Mickey is asking him out_ , and it’s a miracle that Emil doesn’t choke. “Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe?” Mickey sounds uncertain again, the blush on his cheeks darkening. “Yeah? I mean, if you want. You seem like you like me, or _well_ …Sara says that you like me…maybe we’ve been reading you wrong? You can say no if so.”

“Wait.” Emil’s mental Jenga blocks aren’t just collapsing again, they’re scattering in the four winds. “Do _you_ like _me_?” He puts the necessary emphasis on it. “It always seems like you _don’t_.”

Mickey lifts his mug to cover his face, and takes a drink in lieu of answering immediately. Emil would take a drink of his own, but he feels like he’s losing the ability to swallow. “Mickey?”

“I…” Mickey sets his mug back on the table between them—sloshing a bit of the liquid out and taking his time to clean it up—before he actually looks up at Emil a bit nervously, “I’m not the best at expressing emotions.”

Emil wants to say, _me neither_ , but settles on letting his brain to mouth filter continue its implosion.

“I do you.” The statement comes out nonsensical, and the nervous look on Mickey’s doesn’t change. This isn’t going the way it does in his imagination at all. He chooses to hide his face in his hands, if only to stop looking at Mickey, and clarifies. “I do _like_ you, I mean. You didn’t read that wrong.”

_Silence._

His confession is met with a beat of silence and when Emil looks between his fingers, Mickey is still just looking at him, redder than ever, and seemingly at a loss.

Emil doesn’t want to press his luck, but his chest feels two seconds from bursting. “So?”

“Good. I-” Mickey blinks a few times, tripping over his tongue. “I-I like you too.”

\-----

They manage to finish both their drinks and the pastries in companionable silence before leaving the café. The old woman refuses their tab, telling Mickey the treats are on her as long as he promises to come more often and bring his friend with him.

Everything still seems a bit tense and awkward as they step back out onto the sidewalk, and Emil keeps wracking his brain for something to say to no avail. The voice in his head just keeps uselessly repeating _Mickey likes me_ , over and over like a mantra.

It only shuts up when he feels warm fingers tangling with his own, and looks over to see Mickey purposefully looking away as he grabs for Emil’s hand.

Emil makes sure to lace their fingers together properly and squeeze, before he gets the nerve to ask. “So, again tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Mickey hums, as they pick their way back along the sidewalk. “ _Tomorrow_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell i'm not good with fluff?
> 
> find me at [kingotabek](http://kingotabek.tumblr.com/)


End file.
